Hi, I was wondering I spent too much time talking about my teammate and if the narrative perspective was effective. Any constructive criticism would be great!
Thanks for the help!
Walking towards the batter's box, I cannot turn away the dismal thoughts. For years I have failed. Since I was young, I have always been the slowest player on the team because my tolerance to fatigue has never improved and my teammates have joked about me constantly. The pitcher stares at me with a menacing look. My fingers feel a little numb and I see that I'm clenching the bat too tightly. I had soon given up trying to prove my teammates wrong as I was incapable of overcoming the physical threshold that I had inadvertently designated for myself. Self-confidence has been replaced by self-doubt. Baseball, the sport that I dearly enjoyed, was becoming an emotional burden. I tap the plate with my bat. If things had not improved before, why would they now?
Eyes on the pitcher and muscles tense, I swing at the first pitch and unsurprisingly, miss solidly. I tentatively adjust my helmet and look to the stands, sensing the college and professional scouts watching me. Wait, one is checking his phone and another is walking towards the concession stand. I had tried to remind myself that playing for the Minnesota Twins Scout Team at the Arizona Fall Classic was the perfect time to turn things around but who was I kidding? I feel like a placeholder. What can a mere placeholder achieve if he cannot hit ball?
Another pitch flies by as I swing right past the ball. With two strikes, I step back, take a deep breath, and close my eyes. Two strikes might as well be three. I begin to question myself as to whether I can even make contact with the ball anymore but I force the ominous feelings out of my mind and my thoughts wander to what happened moments before. I replay it in my mind - my teammate Colby, with his injured leg, running out a groundball resolutely and then gingerly hobbling off the field, face grimacing yet hinting a sense of pride. The coach nearly had a fit - why did he make such a daring move? Colby knew there was no way that he would be fast enough to get on base but that was of no concern to him. For Colby, physical shortcomings were but obstacles to surpass, mere challenges. He barrelled onward, propelled himself forward with the intent to fight adversity and without the fear of failure. What makes my situation any different from his?
That was it. I step into the batter's box standing tall because now I understand that there is no reason to dread failure, especially since baseball is a game of failures. If you swing and miss twice, there is still another chance to prove yourself. If you strike out in three pitches, walk right up to the batter's box in your next at-bat and dare the pitcher to throw those three same pitches again. The pitcher delivers the pitch and I am ready.
Thanks for the help!
Walking towards the batter's box, I cannot turn away the dismal thoughts. For years I have failed. Since I was young, I have always been the slowest player on the team because my tolerance to fatigue has never improved and my teammates have joked about me constantly. The pitcher stares at me with a menacing look. My fingers feel a little numb and I see that I'm clenching the bat too tightly. I had soon given up trying to prove my teammates wrong as I was incapable of overcoming the physical threshold that I had inadvertently designated for myself. Self-confidence has been replaced by self-doubt. Baseball, the sport that I dearly enjoyed, was becoming an emotional burden. I tap the plate with my bat. If things had not improved before, why would they now?
Eyes on the pitcher and muscles tense, I swing at the first pitch and unsurprisingly, miss solidly. I tentatively adjust my helmet and look to the stands, sensing the college and professional scouts watching me. Wait, one is checking his phone and another is walking towards the concession stand. I had tried to remind myself that playing for the Minnesota Twins Scout Team at the Arizona Fall Classic was the perfect time to turn things around but who was I kidding? I feel like a placeholder. What can a mere placeholder achieve if he cannot hit ball?
Another pitch flies by as I swing right past the ball. With two strikes, I step back, take a deep breath, and close my eyes. Two strikes might as well be three. I begin to question myself as to whether I can even make contact with the ball anymore but I force the ominous feelings out of my mind and my thoughts wander to what happened moments before. I replay it in my mind - my teammate Colby, with his injured leg, running out a groundball resolutely and then gingerly hobbling off the field, face grimacing yet hinting a sense of pride. The coach nearly had a fit - why did he make such a daring move? Colby knew there was no way that he would be fast enough to get on base but that was of no concern to him. For Colby, physical shortcomings were but obstacles to surpass, mere challenges. He barrelled onward, propelled himself forward with the intent to fight adversity and without the fear of failure. What makes my situation any different from his?
That was it. I step into the batter's box standing tall because now I understand that there is no reason to dread failure, especially since baseball is a game of failures. If you swing and miss twice, there is still another chance to prove yourself. If you strike out in three pitches, walk right up to the batter's box in your next at-bat and dare the pitcher to throw those three same pitches again. The pitcher delivers the pitch and I am ready.